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MEMOIR: BUZZ BURRELL
25
Visit the hospital on the James Finlay tea garden estate. It’s beautiful, clinical, clean, well run,
and prone to power cuts every night. After 1 hour’s tour of that hospital, my mind’s made up: I
want to build one,
7. I will need:
•
to chat to the man who built this one 20 years ago
•
to organise funds for building and running
•
get the FRCS myself
•
employ Western nurses ++; anaesthetist; chemical pathologist; haematologist; physician; OT;
physio; maintenance foreman
•
a generator—it must be so annoying to lose power for a few hours each night, which is what
the hospital suffers.
God that hospital’s gorgeous, BUT the nurses let it down: why do they exude an ignorant de-
tached unempathetic air of complacency?
8. I’m inspired +++
9. I’m tired ++
10. To Mr Siraj’s residence...If ever I meet a man who wishes to make yet another film about the
stinking rich British Raj India, I’ll send him to Mr Siraj’s. A huge house, surrounded by palm
trees, an absurdly colossal veranda with an equally oversized thatched roof; crawling with
servants, carpets, and bamboo chairs.
We had a unique tea party there. His living room was so huge, he appeared dis-
tant across the lush carpet. A perfectly groomed gentleman, the now ubiquitous
jet-black hair, shiny face, and a large understanding grin. The tea ceremony was
military in its detail, a century and a half old tradition performed with such intense
sincerity by his attendant servants, dressed like naval officers.
The tea itself really was quite nice, but sadly wasted on me. Undeterred, and
convinced he’d seduced another tea addict into the game, he gave us 2 kg of fresh
tea in large plastic bags.